The Story Line

Two scientists, college professors, discover a means for traveling through time. They embark on a mission; to witness the death of Jesus of Nazareth and debunk the myth of his resurrection from the dead. What they do not anticipate is how their roles will change from observers of history to participants and the effect on their lives when they meet history’s greatest villain, Pontius Pilate and its greatest hero, Jesus called the Christ. At risk, changing the future of the world and human civilization.

Time travel can be a hazardous business...

Prologue

            The rhythmic pounding of the spectators reverberated down the cold stone corridor like the thunder of a distant storm rolling across a mountain range.  Their cheers swept through the opening in the ceiling and pelted the general as an ill wind blowing through a valley.  A wooden platform waited secured with four heavy chains at each corner ready to carry him up to the mob and his destiny.  The light of the mid-day sun poured down highlighting the dust falling from the arena floor above and giving the scene an almost mystical appearance.

The general, wearing full uniform dress and armor, marched in front of his two guards, a shield on his left arm and his helmet under his right.  There was symbolism in the emperor’s order to dress him as a Roman officer, a statement of his perceived treachery.  Though there was little chance he would attack them, his jailers had yet to give him a sword.  They could not know his mind.  Escape was not in his plans.  His interests were above, on the floor of the arena.

From above, he could hear the roar of the mob growing louder.  No doubt, he was being announced.  He lifted his face to the light and the sounds and bathed in them for a moment.

Stepping onto the platform, the veteran of countless campaigns showed little expression to the noise of the throng beyond the hole.  He felt one of his guards strap the blade around his waist but he pretended to take no notice.

Chains rattled and clanked, and the wooden platform creaked as it rose to meet the coliseum floor.  The spectators, sitting comfortably under the massive canvas awnings, sipping wine and eating delicacies, stomped their feet in a cadence, and cheered when his head emerged.

Ever the masters of drama, the organizers lifted the legate into the midst of his men arranged in a circle around the opening.  They wore the clothing and armor of the Germanic barbarians including wigs of long blond hair under their helmets.  The image was clearly portrayed to the crowd, the traitor of Rome forced to die among his barbaric allies, intended to grant him little sympathy from those who came to see him die or the gladiatorial legionnaires who would strike the death blow.

The crowd shouted their approval as a cohort of gladiators marched in lockstep from the main entrance to the arena floor and paraded past the circle of men around the general toward the waiting emperor.  They wore the armor of soldiers of the Empire and rightly so since all were former members of the legion - as were the general’s own men.  The difference was that the offenses of these legionnaires, now gladiators, allowed them to fight for the right to live.  No such expectation existed for the legate’s men; their transgressions were far too grave.  The legate and his men had but one duty and that was to die for the amusement of the mob.

The gladiatorial formation stopped below Caesar’s viewing stand.  His Most Divine Majesty reclined casually awaiting their salute.  They had drilled well in preparation for this moment and drew to a halt smartly before their emperor.  The former legionnaires were cognizant of the stakes in putting on a good show for this one demented man.  Drawing swords, they rapped them on the front of their shields.

“Caesar, we, who about to die, salute you,” they swore in unison.

The arena spectators roared their approval.  The mob was impressed with the military precision of the gladiators.  But, today they were thirsty for blood and entertainment.  Their favors could turn quickly if their needs were not satisfied.

The emperor gave the formation a brisk wave of the hand.  At earlier games he had snidely responded to a similar salute displaying an indifference upsetting to the combatants resulting in their refusal to fight for the crowd.  The gladiators had to be forced at the points of spears to perform their tasks and the people in the stands that day proved more critical of the emperor than the fighters.  He would make no such mistake to mar the pleasure of this day.  He tossed a casual wave to the spectators.  Oh, he would make the mob pay for their insolence someday but today was his to enjoy.

The excitement built when the cohort formed a tortoise and turned toward the “barbarians” circling their general.  However, the former commander of the 12^th Judean Legion and the 1^st Germanic Legion had paid no attention to the show.  He was searching the faces of his own men until he found her.  She had done her best to conceal her presence from him but the desire to catch one last glimpse of her lover was too strong, betraying her.  At first she turned away when their gazes met briefly then she realized that it was foolish since he was now aware of her. But then, she did not know the general had already been told she would be a part of those condemned to die with him.  The sadist of an emperor had to enjoy his moment of vengeance by personally delivering the news the night before, descending to the prisoner’s filthy little cell.  The eyes of the two lovers found each other again and he gave her the best reassuring smile he could summon.  Her return smile inadvertently displayed every bit of the fear within her.  She wanted to look brave but she was scared.

For one fleeting, glorious moment, all that was about to happen seemed to fade as he remembered the first time he had seen her.  Though the years had passed, she was more beautiful today than when first they met.

The turtle formation began its slow progression toward the circle of barbarians.  The gladiators behind the wall of the tortoise slid their short swords out of the sides of the shields.  The movement brought the old general out of his daydream.  The warrior surfaced.

The general could feel the eyes of his men on him wanting to know what they should do.  They were not new to violence.  They were new to The Way.  Looking up at the sky, he wondered what the Master would want them to do.  It occurred to him that he would probably know the mind of God all too soon.  Well, he thought putting on his helmet, these were brave men and he would not deny them the chance to die as such.  He would answer to the Master later.  His sword sang leaving its scabbard.

“To the glory of God,” shouted the old general lifting his weapon into the air.

Scores of swords sang the same song.

“To the glory of God,” echoed his men.  “To the glory of God.”

The mob cheered with joy, blood was in the air.